


i wanna feel the heat with somebody

by intertwingular



Category: Promare, Promare (2019)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Baggage, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, despite what the tags are telling you this isn't that upsetting, is it bad taste to call it slow burn??maybe, yes you are reading that right the title is from whitney houston's "i wanna dance with somebody"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 13:56:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21100595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intertwingular/pseuds/intertwingular
Summary: Sometimes, you need to take a step out of the sun to stop burning. Or: Lio Fotia, Galo Thymos, & recovery.It’s easier not to think about it now. Maybe, when things have calmed down and the Burnish don’t need him so desperately, maybe, when Lio has managed to fully shake apart and put whatever shattered pieces he has left back together, he’ll find a plane, a bus, a ride, to Detroit, and he’ll head home. He’ll let whatever staff remains in the Fotia Estate dote on him, and haunt his childhood bedroom like a ghost.Not now, though. For now, Lio tries to get comfortable on the rock hard mattress Burning Rescue has given him, and pulls the blankets Galo had left for him over his body and tries to leech warmth where he can. For now, Lio tries to imagine the Promare are still with him, still giggling and babbling and begging to burn brighter.For tonight, Lio imagines that he’s still warm.





	i wanna feel the heat with somebody

**Author's Note:**

> "ren didn't you just start a promare fic" yes. yes i did. and here's this. 
> 
> this thing is so long i just??it really kept coming, and i didn't know where to stop it and eventually someone (jun) broke and told me "just post it before it gets longer than you can handle" and i. it's almost 7k. and that's just this chapter! wow. scary! i want to say "it won't be that long" but haha. hahahaha. 
> 
> uh, so that aside, tw for emotional manipulation re: kray and galo. galo gives his consent to all sexy times that happen, but with kray. yeah, it's coercive to an extent. if that isn't your cup of tea, you can skip the section that starts with galo meeting biar in the lobby of town hall, and scroll until you see another line break. dm me on twit for a summary! 
> 
> song of the chapter is whitney houston's i wanna dance with somebody. it's also where the title is from! 
> 
> enjoy :)

Lio moves into Burning Rescue Firehouse No. 3 on a wholly unremarkable Wednesday. Meis and Guiera had taken an apartment in the temporary Burnish settlement by Town Hall, and Lio had accepted Galo’s — loud, enthusiastic, entirely too energetic for three AM — offer to bunk with Burning Rescue. 

“There’s an empty bunk, y’know!” He says, slinging an arm around Lio’s shoulder. Galo radiates heat in a way Lio hasn’t felt since the Promare left him, almost a month and a half ago — _five weeks, three days, thirteen hours, give or take six minutes,_ Lio’s mind supplies — and Lio lets Galo rest his arm there, loathe to let any source of heat go. “Ever since Remi’s girlfriend got turned into a crocodile, we’ve — ”

Lio presses a hand to Galo’s chest. It’s covered for a change, navy t-shirt stretched over Galo’s wide chest, but Lio is too confused to register the feeling of Galo’s pecs beneath his hands, or the warmth that he feels. “I’m sorry,” Lio interrupts, blinking. “Did you say _crocodile_?” 

_I must’ve misheard_, Lio thinks, dazed. _Did he just_ — 

Galo nods sagely. “Oh yeah. Remi’s girlfriend got caught in some kind of biological accident or somethin’? I’m not too sure on the details — oh, and I wouldn’t go asking Remi either, he’s still a bit touchy ‘bout it — but yeah, now she’s this giant albino crocodile that lives in Promepolis’ sewer system.” 

_What._ Lio remembers that Fucking Crocodile. Mad Burnish had hidden out in Promepolis’ sewers while Lio was planning the Ice Ring break-in, and the Fucking Crocodile would’ve taken a chunk out of his leg and Meis’ arm, had it not been for Gueira’s weird skill with wrangling crocodiles. _Fucking Crocodile is Remi’s girlfriend? That Remi? Wait, Fucking Crocodile is a_ girl? The fact that Remi is dating the Fucking Crocodile aside, the real thing that’s throwing Lio for a loop has to be the fact that Remi doesn’t seem at _all_ the kind of person to waste time with nonsense like this. 

That and Lio wouldn’t have expected him to be dating Fucking Crocodile. Or anyone, for that matter. Fucking Crocodile had seemed like just that: a _fucking crocodile,_ especially after trying to eat Lio, Meis, and managing to eat a small portion of Gueira’s earlobe. 

“Huh,” Lio manages to get out, gripping the strap of his borrowed duffle bag tighter. “So...I’m taking her bunk?” He’s...not sure how to feel about that. 

“Yep. Just for a while though!” Galo smiles at him, and it’s all teeth: white and pearly and entirely too bright, just as Galo seemed to always be. Lio tries to focus on that, instead of how his stomach sinks at the _just for a while, though!_

“Mmm.” Lio follows Galo further into Burning Rescue — past the common room that he’s lingered in for the past month and a half, where Lucia’s massive arcade/invention-testing machine sits, barely tucked under the staircase, and the firepole Aina had torn her stockings sliding down on the week prior sit, past the kitchen and dining room, where someone (probably Lucia) has forgotten to wash the dishes, and a Saran-wrapped plate of blueberry pancakes sits on the island. 

“Those are for you, by the way,” Galo says, nudging Lio with his hip. “Varys made ‘em special! They’re a…” Galo taps a finger to his chin, “welcome gift! Since you’re a part of the team now. Still, don’t want you to have to crash in the bunks for too long…” 

Lio can’t help but bristle. “Don’t worry, Galo Thymos,” he murmurs lowly, “I’ll find a place at the Burnish settlement soon enough. We just have to get the others settled first.” 

Galo shakes his head — and all of Lio’s attention follows the movement. His hair isn’t gelled up this time, rather, this time, Galo has pulled it into a low ponytail, the length of it brushing the tips of his shoulder blades. Every time Galo takes a step, shakes his head, or does _anything,_ that length of bound hair moves, highlighting the column of Galo’s neck, the breadth of his shoulders — Lio is going to _die_ if he can’t stop noticing every damn move Galos Thymos makes, if he can’t stop turning toward the man like a sunflower toward the sun. 

“We’re not just going to kick you out, Lio.” Galo look solemn like this, illuminated by the setting sun that leaks through the haphazardly closed kitchen curtains. The light sharpens the lines of Galo’s jaw, nose, and brightens the blue of his eyes and the color of his lips. 

_God,_ Lio thinks, _I’m so fucked._

Galo leads him up the winding staircase, to the bunks that Burning Rescue houses in the uppermost loft. “Nobody should have to sleep on the bunks for longer than a week, anyways.” He leads Lio to the one unmarked pallet in the loft. Every other bunk has some sort of detritus decorating it: from here, Lio can pick out which bunk belongs to who. Aina’s bunk has posters of the popular virtual idol she likes — Lio can remember her oo-ing and ah-ing over tickets to their concert two cities over — Lucia’s bunk has mechanical bits and bobs everywhere, and her lamp rotates, light a small model of the blue, red, and white lights that announce Burning Rescue’s arrival. 

It’s Galo’s bunk that throws Lio for a loop, however. The entirety of it is covered in photographs — though Lio wasn’t quite sure _what_ he was expecting. Sirens? Police lights? A firetruck bed? Instead, there are people Lio can’t recognize in the photographs, and people he can. It’s surprisingly sedate. 

There’s a woman with hair a darker shade of blue than Galo’s, holding him up in front of a set of bright red arches. The tilt to her eyes holds a ghost in Galo’s own, and the breadth of her smile finds its twin on Galo’s face. _His mother_, Lio thinks, and can’t help but think back to his own parents, long dead and buried in the family estate back in the English countryside. The photo next to it has both Galo and his mother, and a man. His hair is the same shade of eye-catching blue as Galo’s, and his eyes are the same color too. 

“You look like your dad,” Lio murmurs, words slipping out before he can stop them. “I can’t believe that hair is genetic.” 

Galo startles, moving back toward Lio, back to his own bunk to stare at the photos he’d pinned up around the bed. His hand drifts up to his hair, to where the hair tie keeps it tucked against the nape of his neck. “Yeah,” he replies, still toying with his hair. “I don’t remember ‘em really well, but this aunt I had in Greece sent the photos over when I got moved into a foster home.” 

He reaches out, the pads of his fingers brushing against the grainy, smiling faces, in the two photos. “What about your parents?” Galo asks, turning to face Lio. “Got any stories about them?” 

Lio shrugs. “What is there to say? They’re both dead — don’t look at me like that, Galo Thymos,” he warns. Lio doesn’t even need to look Galo in the eye to know the man is making that kicked-puppy face Lio’s become all too familiar with. Lio sighs. “They were old when they had me — both my parents had been married several times before marrying each other, and they’d both had kids from other marriages.” Family gatherings had been a _mess_. Lio never wants to attend one again. “They were already getting old by the time I became a Burnish, and it’s been thirty years since then.” 

Sometimes, Lio forgets that he’s not eighteen anymore, and that really he must be what, forty-eight? Fifty? Almost as old as his parents were when they’d had him, and _God_, isn’t that a hell of a shock. Most of his older siblings probably have grandkids by now: Lio was the youngest of the pack, after all. 

Galo gapes. “Wait, _thirty years_?” He asks, incredulous. “I thought you were — ”

Lio raises an eyebrow. “I did say you were one to talk, Galo Thymos,” Lio says, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re a child to me.” 

“I’m _twenty five_!” 

_And I’m almost fifty_, Lio doesn’t say. He thinks Galo gets it all the same though. 

“So. My bunk?” Lio tilts his head. There’s only one bunk without a fingerprint on it: it’s next to what must be Remi’s bunk, and the sheets look starchy, stretched over the twin sized pallet every bunk area has. 

“Oh, right!” Galo bounds over to the bunk. “Right here.” He slaps a hand down on the mattress, and Lio tries to ignore the way even Galo’s odd strength doesn’t make a dent in it. “Yeah, it’s hard as hell,” Galo says, catching the tail end of Lio’s dubious expression. “Which is why you’re only gonna have to stay here for a week or so anyways. The team is helping me get the guest room in my apartment ready, so you can sleep there once it’s done!” 

“Guest room?” Lio stops, duffel bag halfway to the bed. “Nobody told me anything about a guest room.” 

Galo scratches the back of his head and laughs sheepishly. “Well...it was supposed to be a surprise.” 

Lio levels a deadpan stare at him. “Do you,” he begins, setting his duffel bag firmly atop the rock-hard bed, “have _any_ idea what a surprise is supposed to be?” 

“Hey, I know what a surprise is! But you looked kinda sad, so I figured no one was gonna kill me if I spilt the beans a week or so early.” Galo shrugs, and smiles again — but this one is softer, almost more intimate. “So!” He claps his hands together, the sound deafening in the quiet of the firehouse. “I’ll leave you to chill and get unpacked, right?” 

“Mhm,” Lio hums. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Galo.” 

Galo turns back and waves. “Yeah! Bright and early.” And then he’s gone, and try as he might, Lio stands there until the sound of Galo’s footsteps fade. He stands there until the revving of Galo’s motorcycle fills the silent, dusky air, and fades away, the sounds of Promepolis swallowing them whole. 

Afterwards, Lio turns back to Galo’s bunk. Lets his eyes rove over the trove of photos tacked up on the wall. There’s Galo, graduating from what must be the Fire Academy. Kray’s hand is heavy on Galo’s shoulder, the girth of it almost covering it all. Lio wants to spit fire at the calm, congenial smile on Kray’s face — _why, why, why_, something primal in him howls, still spitting fire and tears and words that Lio can’t take back nor let free. 

Lio still _hates_ Kray Foresight. His anger, while no longer so bright as to call forth a dragon from a volcano, still simmers, but with it, with _Galo_, has come confusion. _How?_ Lio wants to ask. _How could you smile at him, could stand there with him, so gentle, so strong, so sure, how could you do that, but kill us, trap us, we were your people, we were like you, but you — you — you — ___

Lio knows, better than perhaps anyone, how _easy_ it is to love Galo Thymos. He has a feeling that Kray Foresight was no different — everything Lio has heard about what the bastard had done for Galo screams care, screams affection. 

He stares at the other pictures on the wall. There’s Galo, Aina, and Lucia, figures blurred as they scream atop a massive roller coaster; an elderly couple in front of an ivy-laden brownstone, their smiles gentle and sunny; a portly, balding man, holding a massive pizza pie that can only be an Inferno Volcano Margherita Mega Max high in the air. _So many memories,_ Lio thinks, as he moves back to his cot. 

Once, maybe, Lio had enough photographs — memories — to paper a wall like that. He’d had (more than) a few Polaroid cameras back when he’d been in high school — embarrassing, maybe, but Lio wonders if his cameras would be waiting for him in his childhood bedroom in Detroit, if he ever went back there. He knows that there’s a high chance they would be, along with all the photos Lio had taken with them: the photos of him and his high school ex-boyfriend, him and his favorite half-sibling, Laurie, him and Mom, at the private beach behind their vacation home in Marseille. 

It’s easier not to think about it now. Maybe, when things have calmed down and the Burnish don’t need him so desperately, maybe, when Lio has managed to fully shake apart and put whatever shattered pieces he has left back together, he’ll find a plane, a bus, a ride, to Detroit, and he’ll head home. He’ll let whatever staff remains in the Fotia Estate dote on him, and haunt his childhood bedroom like a ghost. 

Not now, though. For now, Lio tries to get comfortable on the rock hard mattress Burning Rescue has given him, and pulls the blankets Galo had left for him over his body and tries to leech warmth where he can. For now, Lio tries to imagine the Promare are still with him, still giggling and babbling and begging to burn brighter. 

For tonight, Lio imagines that he’s still warm.

* * *

After he gets Lio situated in the Burning Rescue bunks, Galo goes to visit Kray. He stops by Heris’ office first — she’s not the temporary Governor, despite having been asked, but she does have an office in Town Hall, a wide, observatory-like space with a glass ceiling, glass walls, and a large desk that’s all but buried under paper and a few carefully framed photos of her and Aina. 

Galo raps his knuckles against her open door. Heris flinches at the noise, light glinting off of her round glasses, and she adjusts them, nervously peering out into her dark office. 

“Oh! Galo, it’s just you.” She sighs. “Thank you for knocking...though I did leave my door open…” Heris stands, brushing lint, crumbs, and little bits of torn up paper off her pencil skirt. She looks rumpled, dark bags forming under her eyes. 

“Rough couple’a days, Heris?” Galo asks, stooping down to pick up some scattered files. “Should I call Aina?” 

Heris adjusts her glasses. “No, no, it’s okay.” She holds her arms out for the files. “Thank you, though. Can you let her know I’ll do my best to meet her for lunch tomorrow?” 

Galo flashes her a cheery thumbs up. “Sure thing, Heris. So, about that thing we were talking about — ”

She interrupts him with a soft sigh and a held up hand. “Galo,” he hates how soft her voice is now. Heris looks at him over top her glasses, and Galo thinks there might be pity in her eyes. It makes something ugly unfurl in his stomach, that roiling, angry thing that’s made a home there since Kray threw him into that solitary cell for a week and left him to die. 

“Galo,” Heris starts again. “Are you — are you sure this is a good idea? I mean…” What’s left unsaid hangs between them. What Heris has _seen_, what she knows hangs over Galo’s head like a noose. “I know you — ”

“Heris,” Galo smiles weakly at her. For some reason, he can’t seem to muster the energy to smile like he normally does. His mouth is straining at the corners, and all Galo wants to do is purse his lips and stick his hands in the pockets of his Burning Rescue jacket, like he’s still in high school, still pouty and growing into his too-large feet and too-large hands. “Heris, I’ll be fine. I need to see him before I get up on that stand, y’know?” 

Galo swings an arm round and around and around, trying to loosen the tightness that’s settled there since he touched back down on Earth with Lio. He tries to ignore the way Heris’ eyes probe over him — what it is she thinks she’ll find, Galo doesn’t know. 

Heris shakes her head. “I know. I know.” She bites her thumb, and at last, lets out a long, defeated sigh. “I’ll call a guard.” Heris wanders back over to her desk, wrenching a small drawer on top open. “Hello?” She says, speaking into a walkie-talkie. “I need a guard to Floor Forty-Three.” There’s a crackle of unintelligible speech and static. “Yes. Please escort Galo Thymos down the Sub-Floor Fifteen, to Kray Foresight’s cell.” Another crackle. “Yes, he’s been vetted.” 

She turns to him. “You’re good to go, Galo.” He watches as she slides the walkie talkie back into place, closing the drawer shut with a _click._ “There’s a guard making his way up.” 

“I’ll meet him by the elevator. Thanks, Heris.” Galo turns to leave, the thud of his boots echoing hollow in the atrium. 

“Galo, wait.” Heris grabs him by the sleeve of his Burning Rescue jacket, tugging him closer. 

Galo looks at her. She seems to be floundering for words — the _what to say, what to say_ look on her face is almost identical to Aina’s own — but Heris swallows and lets go of his wrist, her smile watery. “Um. Good luck.” 

He nods, a quick bob of his head. “Uh, yeah,” Galo murmurs, inching closer to the door. “Thanks.” 

Galo swears to himself that he’s not running, that there’s nothing to run _from_, that it’s just Heris. But a part of Galo is scared of Heris too — he can’t help but remember her cold eyes staring at him through the tiny barred window of that padded cell, can’t help but see Kray’s own eyes overlapped with her own, red and burning and — 

When Galo thinks about Kray, all he can hear is _I_ hate _you. Why didn’t you just_ die? Over and over and over again, until the memories Galo once loved are nothing but a collection of staticky faces and those same words that live in his bones and his blood. _I hate you. Why couldn’t you have just died?_

Galo meets the guard by the elevator. He presses the button, stooped down to let Town Hall’s system scan his eye, and down they go. 

Down, and down, and down. Galo thinks he remembers a story about monsters that live below ground. Monsters that only came out when the sun couldn’t touch them, monsters that came out to eat misbehaving children. 

If Galo were smarter, maybe he could relate that to Kray. But he can’t. Kray was the sun. There was no light that didn’t touch him, make him brighter, _better_ — but if Kray wasn’t a monster, then what did that make him? 

What did that make Galo, who had been chewed up and spat out, years before he even realized it had happened? 

Galo leans against the cool glass of the underground elevator. He lets his head loll backwards, bumping against the glass with a satisfying _thud, thud, thud_. Out from the corner of his eyes, Galo can see that the guard is trying not to be too obvious about the way he’s staring, concerned, but Galo catches it nonetheless. It’s hard, he knows, not to feel eyes on you. 

After all, Galo had never, _ever_, missed the sensation of Kray’s eyes on him.

* * *

It had started when Galo was halfway through the Fire Academy. He was young, impulsive, and — in the interest of complete honesty — easily riled up. He’d gone into Town Hall for what his roommate at the time had dubbed his monthly check-in. 

He’d greeted Biar at the front desk, same as usual. The woman was waiting for him out front, iPad flush against her side, the same bored expression on her face. “Galo,” she said, already moving towards the elevator bay, “Governor Kray is waiting for you in his office.” 

Galo nodded, stepping into the elevator as the doors opened. He settled on the opposite side as Biar — she still made him uncomfortable. It was in the way she held herself, always at a distance, always blank — for Galo, someone who’d quiet or still a day in his life, it had always felt a little...unnatural. 

Still, he didn’t want to be rude to Biar. She’d done a lot for him, Galo knew. It had been Biar who’d arranged for every photoshoot Galo had to accompany Kray to, and Biar who had made sure that his foster family was treating him right during the months Kray couldn’t stop by the ivy-laden brownstone. 

While Galo was thinking, the elevator shuddered to a stop. The steel doors slid open with a barely-there hiss, and Biar stepped out, kitten heels clicking against the marble floors of Kray’s office. “Sir, Galo Thymos is here to see you.” 

Kray looked up from whatever he was signing, setting his pen down on his desk gently. For a moment, Galo had to stop and catch his breath because — Kray was hot, okay? Objectively, Galo had always known that: he’d gone through puberty, after all. Galo went to public high school, went to Prom, went to Homecoming, had his fair share of screwing around with guys, girls, and everything in between during high school and the Fire Academy. But Kray was — Kray was the Governor of Promepolis, he was Galo’s guardian angel, his knight in white and — maybe Galo was a little (a lot) in love with him. Maybe he had been, since he was old enough to recognize it. 

His roommate at the Fire Academy had been there during the Halloween frat party — his roommate had seen Galo sneak into the frat house’s backyard not too far behind some tall, blonde, and built frat boy, and connected the dots himself. 

“You’ve got a crush on the Governor,” his roommate said, as soon as Galo had staggered into their dorm room, hickies a lurid, bruising purple on his neck. 

Galo, who had been trying to reach the mini fridge to get a Cherry Ryuko Gatorade, had come to a dead stop, and something not too unlike fear trickled down his spine. “Wh - what?” 

His roommate rolled his eyes. “You,” he said, carefully enunciating every syllable, “have. A crush. On. The Governor.” 

Galo choked. “No!” He blurted, slamming the mini fridge door shut. “No, no way! I don’t. I’m not — ”

“It’s completely chill, y’know,” his roommate continued, barrelling on in the face of Galo’s complete and utter despair. “I don’t really care that much, but like…” He made a face, staring at the hickies dotting Galo’s neck, and the sweaty mess Galo was in. “I hope you used protection with that frat guy. And that those bruises heal before our agility test on Friday.” 

That was the end of that, at least. And no, the bruises hadn’t healed by Friday. Galo had run the entire damn agility course sore and feeling the frat boy’s teeth on the nape of his neck, and the sensation of the guy’s — and Galo _still_ couldn’t remember the guy’s damn name — cock, the girth of it wider than the fingers Galo had pressed into himself when his roommate left to visit family, or stay with his girlfriend. And despite that, he still placed first in their class, much to his roommates chagrin. 

So. Kray. 

The Halloween Incident hadn’t been that long ago: it was coming up on December, nearing the end of November, and Galo was making plans to visit his foster parents for Thanksgiving, and trying to put the whole strained heart-to-heart he’d had with his roommate out of his mind. 

“Ah, Galo! I’m sorry, I must’ve lost track of time. Biar, I’ve left the signed forms out to be delivered to the right departments. Take care of that for me, would you? I’m heading out to lunch with Galo.” He rose from his chair — and Galo would never get over how tall Kray was, taller than even Galo himself, or that Fire Marshall who had come to the Fire Academy the week before that awkward Halloween party — and smiled at Galo, pressing a hand to the small of Galo’s back. That small point of contact sent a frisson of heat arcing down the length of Galo’s spine, and he bit the inside of his cheek, and thought, _calm down. Calm down. Jesus Christ, calm down._

“No prob, Gov!” Galo said, if only to try and look like everything was okay, and he wasn’t a stone’s throw away from popping a boner right then and there, and smiled at Kray. It wasn’t hard to smile at Kray. “See you later, Biar!” 

As usual, Biar said nothing in response. 

It had gone as all visits with Kray normally did — they went out for some kind of food Galo hadn’t really tried before (Indian, this time — Galo had gotten the spiciest thing on the menu, and swore he was about to breathe fire when he took the first bite of his curry), but this time, Kray forewent the town car back to Town Hall, waving it off with ease. 

“Let’s walk back, hmm? Indian food is always so heavy,” he’d said, and what could Galo do but agree? 

_But how did that lead to_ this? Galo wondered later, on his knees. The night had become a blur — how they’d gotten from Point A to Point B, Galo didn’t know, but he wasn’t complaining. The lights in Town Hall were all out — it was past ten PM, and all the staff had since left to go home — but Kray and Galo were still there, and Galo was on his knees, under Kray’s massive desk, choking breathlessly on Kray’s cock. 

It was huge, larger than even that frat boy’s cock he’d taken on Halloween, behind the garden shed of the frat house. Everytime Kray thrust into his throat, Galo gagged again, spit running down his chin, and tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Out from the corner of his vision, Galo could see spit and tears and sweat dripping onto the floor beneath Kray’s desk. 

_I’m making a mess_ — he tried to say, but Galo couldn’t form words from around Kray’s dick, couldn’t even pull _off_, not with Kray’s fingers threaded so insistently through his hair, holding him firmly in place as the man bucked and thrust his hips. 

“That’s — ” Kray let out a guttural moan, head thrown back, exposing the column of his throat to the moonlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Oh, that’s good, just like that, just like — _ugh_, right there, keep sucking —!” Without warning, Kray pulled Galo’s hair tighter, grip like a vice, and Galo let out a startled moan, half panicked, half aroused, as the governor pushed in deeper. 

He tried to pull away from it — Kray’s dick was pushing too deep into Galo’s throat, and already, Galo could feel his gag reflex working overtime, trying to push it out, and already, Galo could feel panic closing his throat as he struggled to breathe. He moaned desperately around Kray’s cock, pushing futilely at the man’s hips, but instead, Kray only tugged harder on Galo’s hair, pulling it until the force of it was almost too painful to bear. It wasn’t anything like fooling around with well-built frat boys during Halloween parties — there wasn’t any foreplay (that Galo could remember), no quiet rasping of clothing as it came off and was promptly discarded, or quiet slapping of skin against skin, as Galo braced himself against the garden shed wall and met the frat boy thrust for thrust, and shuddering, orgasmic haze. This was something else, something more _adult_ — and those were the only words Galo had for it — more frantic and self-serving. Galo was hard enough to cut stone, his own dick tenting his loose sweats, and Kray’s cock was a solid, warm weight on his tongue, scraping the back of his throat, pushing into places nobody had pushed into before. 

And then, _and then_, Kray came. Kray moaned, and shuddered, and thrashed, pinning Galo in place, keeping Galo’s nose buried in the golden curls of his pubes, as he came straight down Galo’s throat. The taste was salty and bitter and as soon as Kray pulled out, spent, Galo coughed, massaging his throat, and tried to spit the come out. But Kray had pressed his hand to Galo’s chin and slowly — not gently, no matter how much Galo combed over the memory later, he couldn’t, for some reason, call the motion _gentle_ — pushed his mouth shut. 

“Swallow,” Kray ordered, voice deeper and huskier than Galo had ever heard it. When Galo hesitated, Adam’s apple suspended, he frowned, brow furrowing and eyes tilting down. 

“Can’t you do this for me, Galo?” Kray asked. “Can’t you do this one thing for me?” 

And Galo, who had never been able to deny Kray a _thing_, when Kray asked, nodded, bobbing his head silently, and swallowed. He tried not to grimace at the taste of semen, that salty, bitter taste that lingered, almost coating his tongue, but Galo couldn’t hold it in, and choked, loud, hacking coughs tearing from his throat, sending what little come he hadn’t swallowed spattering against the floor. At this, Kray had frowned again, and stroked a hand down the side of Galo’s face, flicking tears from his cheeks, and skirting around the drool lines that dripped from the corners of his lips to the bottom of his chin. 

“You’ll get used to the taste soon enough, Galo.” _A promise.Good boy,_” Kray purred, and rapped a knuckle against the wood of his desk. “Come here, and bend over.” And Galo did, spreading himself over Kray’s desk, hips cocked, and hands hidden under his chin, where Kray couldn’t see them shake. 

Galo didn’t want to worry Kray — Galo _wanted_ this, had wanted this since he’d known what sex was, or discovered that he didn’t quite care about the gender of his partners. Galo had wanted this since Kray clapped a warm, large hand over his shoulders, and spoken to him in that quiet, gentle tone of his. It didn’t matter that before this, Galo hadn’t really taken anything more than three of his own (admittedly large) fingers, a small silicone dick, and a frat boy’s cock behind a garden shed on Halloween, even though Kray’s dick was gigantic, veiny and hard, and Galo could still feel its shape in his throat. 

_I want this,_ Galo thought, as Kray pressed in. _I want it._ It didn’t matter that he felt woefully unprepared, that it felt like he was about to tear, and that almost every website on sex Galo had ever read — including the ones that his foster parents had made him read when he came out — had said that if it felt like there wasn’t enough lube,_ there wasn’t enough lube,_ because Galo _wanted_ this. He didn’t want to let Kray down. 

It wasn’t as if it didn’t feel good, either. Kray’s dick was, again, huge, and it pressed firmly up against that spot that sent sparks flying behind Galo’s eyes and made him tremble and moan and see stars where there were none. Once the pain had passed, and that too-tight, too-hot feeling of being stretched too far passed with a burst of slick heat that Galo could only assume was Kray’s precome had passed too, Galo couldn’t stop himself from moaning brokenly from where his face was pressed against the cold wood of Kray’s desk. 

“_Augh,_ G-gov — G-gov, ple-_ah_-please slow, _oh God_, slow d-down,” Galo sputtered, vision hazy. “It’s too _mu-mu-uh-ch_, I’m, I’m —!” Galo moaned, louder this time, and found that he couldn’t do anything but moan, and moan, and moan, as Kray thrust into him, balls slapping against his ass. 

_It’s too much_, Galo thought, holding onto the edge of Kray’s desk with a white-knuckled grip, _It’s too much!_

But Galo had to want this. So he thrust back, and met Kray stroke for stroke, thighs trembling as he fought to hold himself up against Kray’s near-endless fucking, and moaned and moaned and moaned. 

He walked back to his dorm that night sorer than he’d ever been. The wet, slick heat that had eased the way for Kray’s cock had been blood — just a little spot of it, Galo had reassured Kray, nothing too bad — and Galo could still feel Kray’s dick inside of him, hot and heavy, like the load the Governor had asked him to keep inside until he got home. Galo staggered back to his dorm in a haze, desperately trying to ignore the sensation of something wet trying to trickle down his sweatpants, and all but threw himself into the shower. 

Galo groaned as the water hit his sore back, and nearly wept when the last of Kray’s spend dribbled out of him. He gave into gravity, stopped fighting against the pull, as Galo’s legs wobbled and gave way, his ass hit the tiled floor of his and his roommate’s shower-tub combo. It felt good, in a way, to be sitting miles away from Kray, and still feel the man with him — _in_ him. 

Galo didn’t think about anything further than that. He showered, popped an Advil, and chugged a Gatorade. Food could wait until morning. 

Galo slept like the dead, and in his dreams, all he heard was _good boy. What a good boy you’re being, Galo._

* * *

“Mr. Thymos?” The guard stares at him, halfway out of the elevator, and Galo blinks, pushing himself off from the elevator’s glass wall. 

_Weird,_ he thinks, chasing away a shudder. “Mr. Thymos is my dad!” Galo says instead, beaming. “You don’t need to worry about calling me that, or anything. I don’t really care.” 

The guard nods. “If you say so,” he parrots dubiously. “I’ll be waiting at the end of the corridor while you speak with the prisoner. Make it quick, please.” 

Galo checks his phone — it’s nearing midnight. He can see why the guard wants him to finish quickly. Galo’s no stranger to 48-hour shifts at Burning Rescue, but that doesn’t mean he has to _like_ them. “Sure thing,” he says. “I’ll be in and out!” 

Before the guard can respond, Galo’s already taking off down the long corridor — before, this level of Town Hall housed the Parnassus, Kray’s Ark and the proclaimed “hope of humanity.” If you could count humanity as the ten thousand “chosen” Kray had selected to survive the absolute heat death of the Earth. The hallways aren’t familiar. The sights aren’t either — there are triangles _everywhere_, remnants of the Promepods meant to serve as the final resting place for the captured Burnish. 

What _is_ familiar: the cell. The solitary, padded cell with it’s single, triangular barred window, that had been Galo’s home for the week he’d been there. It was Kray’s cell now. What remained of the government was too scared of him breaking out from any other holding cell they’d placed him in, and Heris had been the one to push the suggestion forward. 

The cell was built to hold Burnish criminals, she told them, voice unwavering. It can hold Kray, too. 

The fact that Kray was a Burnish criminal went unsaid, but Galo, standing ramrod straight in his formal uniform — police blues and gold epaulette — had heard it, regardless. From the look Heris shot him after she sat back down, she knew he’d heard it too. 

When Galo came to a stop in front of the cell, Kray’s red eyes seemed to glow in the dim lighting. The sight of Kray, sitting on the cell floor, blond hair loose around his eyes, made something in Galo’s stomach seize with anxious terror. _I shouldn’t have come,_ Galo thought distantly, frozen in place. 

Before Galo can move, can stop _standing_ there like a deer caught in the headlights of some oncoming car, Kray notices him, head turning toward Galo, like a compass toward magnetic north. 

“Ah,” Kray says, and his tone is so gentle, so soft, so _normal_ that whatever courage Galo might’ve had, once upon a time, curdles. “Galo. I was wondering when I’d see you.”

Galo’s words catch in his throat. “Hey, Gov,” he says, trying not to choke on the sudden dryness that spreads from his mouth to his tongue. 

If the lighting was better, Galo would bet that Kray’s teeth were bared, still gleaming white. 

“What _did_ you come here for?” Kray’s voice takes on that same saccharine, poisonous honey tilt that it always did when he wanted something from Galo, and no wasn’t an answer he’d take. “Not just to see me, I’m sure.” 

When Galo doesn’t speak, Kray continues, voice barely louder than a whisper. But his words echo in the empty space between them like a gunshot in a silent night, and Galo, as usual, can’t stop listening. 

“Did you _miss_ me, Galo? Even though I threw you away? Chewed you up and spit you out?” 

_I need to stop listening_, Galo thinks, still frozen in place. 

“Did you miss the heat of my body atop yours? The feeling of my —”

Galo breaks. He turns away from the cell and walks away, until Kray’s words fade into the darkness. Galo turns, and walks, all the way past the guard, who startles and calls after him, walks through the corridor until the glass elevator rises in front of him, and stands there, arms crossed over his chest, and waits for the guard to sprint back in. The questions fall on deaf ears, and Galo moves on autopilot, out from the elevator, out from Town Hall, away from Heris’ watching, probing eyes. 

Galo waits until he’s far enough away to stop, breathless and lightheaded. When he thinks back to tonight — and he eventually will, Galo knows himself — he won’t remember any of this: won’t remember Kray’s mocking voice, or Heris’ quiet concern. Instead, Galo will remember the chill of night, and the feeling of fear, oppressive where it looms, leaning heavily on the nape of Galo’s neck. 

When he checks his phone, the bright light nearly blinds him, eyes having turned sensitive to the light after so long underground and in the dark. _12:30_, Galo’s phone screen says. 

Galo turns on his heel and heads home.

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah. ive never written smut before so uh. yeehaw i guess? 
> 
> comments and kudos keep me going, so please drop some and tell me how i'm doing, what you liked, disliked, etc! i love to see 'em. 
> 
> my twitter is @mochiicreams :)) i am mostly rt'ing promare stuff now. help.


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